Imperium
by Abyssopelagic
Summary: Four brothers think each other dead and live in far-flung corners of the sprawling empire of Rome. A legionary, a gladiator, a wander, and the right hand of Augustus Caesar no longer believe they form a family. This is about to change, and fast. / An AU set in ancient Rome, in various short pieces.
1. Night, Part 1

_Author's Note: This whole fic is very silly, self-serving and depends a lot on loving ancient Rome. A lot of short pieces coming together to form a big, ridiculous AU. Enjoy!_

* * *

"Mikey…"

"I'm not going to bed!"

Leo was tired, and his head ached, and his heart ached too from walking all over the Subura looking for work that didn't exist. So he didn't need an unhappy, still-sniffling little brother talking back at him tonight.

Raphael looked up from the window, but didn't say anything, turning his eyes back to the oiled paper that covered them. Leo had sold the glass months ago when he had run out of metal to pawn.

Leo sighed. Mikey stood in the doorway to the bedroom, arms folded tightly across his chest and frowning deeply at Leo.

"I'm thirteen," he said, his brows furrowed. "I don't need a bedtime any more! Raph and Donnie don't have bedtimes! I'm old enough to work, Leo!"

"Those things might all be true, but Raph and Donnie haven't been sick for three weeks with a funny cough. We can't afford more medicine."

Beside Raphael, Donnie winced, looking up from the tablet he'd been writing on. Donatello was the only one with consistent work, but a painter's apprentice earned so little that it might as well have been nothing. Still, Donnie seemed to like creating frescoes when he could, and he never held back his earnings from Leonardo. His oldest brother hoped that his craft would pay off someday.

"Leo's right," Donnie said, setting down his stylus. "Go to bed, Mikey, I'll be in there soon too. You need to get better if you want to get back to working."

"Maybe I don't _want _to get back to working."

"None of us do," Leo said, a wry smile finally playing on his face. "But we have debts to pay off if we want to keep Father's house. But _I _want you to get better, so you've gotta get to bed." The worrying, dry cough of Mikey's hadn't completely disappeared yet; there was only so much that strong tea and rest could do.

"Leo."

He turned, his posture stiff with irritation. "Was it is, Raph? In the middle of something here."

Raphael ignored the tone, which was Leo's first clue to something being wrong. He was closer to the window now, his nose nearly touching the paper.

"There's a bunch of guys coming up the walkway," he said, pointing to some smudges beyond the paper, ambling down the road. "Big guys."

Leo tensed, and motioned to Donnie, who immediately stood up. His arm went around their youngest brother and they stood in the doorway, Mikey's eyes suddenly wide and darting between the doorway and Leonardo.

This wasn't right. The only person that came this way was the tax collector, and he always came alone.

He was startled by three hard raps on their door, and a rough voice.

"_Open up! _Open up, sons of Hamato! Or I'll break this door down!"

Mikey squeaked behind him, and Raph was on his feet right away. He was always ready to fight for Leo, for their family. It took much less than this.

Leo had no choice. He reached for the lock.

_Janus, may no darkness enter our doorway. Protect my brothers._

But the gods had never listened before.


	2. Night, Part 2

The Hamato brothers had split into two sets. The youngest stood in the bedroom doorway, Donnie's arm wrapped tightly around their youngest brother. The eldest stood their ground in the main room, as a dozen thugs picked through their belongings and threw their furniture to the floor.

There was nothing Leo could do. Not now.

"Why are you here?" he asked finally, trying to hold on to the contact of his brothers, that would keep him brave. "I paid the rent last week, it can't be that."

"The rent," the largest man growled as he pulled open a drawer. "Not the debts that have piling up since your father's tragic passing."

"I'm working on the debts, it's hard to save …" Leo started, trailing off at the look he received

"Xever!" the thug barked, a thin, dark man digging in their clothing chest. "Any money?"

"Barely," he said, lifting his head. "But there are good weapons here, and old trinkets …".

"Stop!" Mikey shouted. They all turned, and Leo's stomach clenched.

The men paused, apparently as surprised as Michelangelo's brothers that he had spoken up. "Pardon me?" Xever asked, softly.

Mikey was holding fast to Donatello's arm (Donnie looking like he was about to throw up), his eyes wide and wild. "You can't touch that stuff, it was our father's from the legion! You can't! It's—"

Donnie's hand over their youngest brother's mouth silenced him. Michelangelo fought against his brother's grip, his jerking movements futile.

Xever smiled, and Leo shivered.. Then he gave the chest a hard kick, spilling its contents and grinding his heel into one of the finer tunics. They hadn't had the heart to sell those things, not yet.

Mikey squeaked, and Raph took in a sharp intake of breath, his fists clenching. Leo just barely swallowed back his rage.

"I'll give you what money we have," he said, voice as calm as he could force it to be. "And we can work out a way of payment, monthly or weekly if you want—"

He caught sight of Raph's face: incredulous, disgusted. But what other choice did he have to keep them all safe but to be diplomatic, like he had all this time with the tax collector, with the shop owners?

The broad-shouldered man laughed. And kicked over Donatello's desk, sending pigments, documents and candles flying.

"Too late for that, Hamato!" he said, motioning with his hand at his band of lackeys. Raphael's fists clenched and Donnie gave a soft cry at his possessions going flying. "There's a word for those whose debts get too high to pay. _Slave._"

The fire was already licking at their floorboards, and the panic was rising behind Leo's eyes. "Guys. _Run!_"

They were quick to respond, but so were the men: He saw someone grab Michelangelo's arm, and his youngest brother yelped as the rest of them surged forward.

Leo didn't remember much after that—the chaos, the leaping flames, a blow to the head … but the important things stayed. Raph disappearing in the crush of men. Donnie being knocked to the floor, away from Michelangelo. And his youngest brother trapped in the back room as the fire encroached.

There was no time to plan, to think, to stay together. He remembered stumbling out the door and the world going black

Leo woke up the next day, confused and far away from home. How had he gotten here? He had to leave the unfamiliar alleyway as a baker shooed him out, and he ran, back to the _Subura, _to the ruins of their house.

An old neighbour shook his head, pitying, when he found Leonardo. "They pulled several bodies from the fire," he said. "And those who were left are going on the next slave ship, as per the collegiate's orders. Too much damage."

Then he had been left to his grief. He'd cried, silently, for a day.

Another night in an alley, and he was at a recruitment desk. The legions were marching in a few months, north through Italy and into the Gallic mountains. Far away. That was what Leonardo needed.

He couldn't bear to be near their souls.


	3. The Emperor's Box

Donatello had never liked the games.

He couldn't see the joy in watching tortured animals tear at the bellies of criminals, or appreciate the gleam in a seasoned gladiator's eyes as he knocked a slave into the sand. He sat in his place at Caesar's left, and came to every match. But he always sat like a stone, quietly ignoring the roar of the crowd or the emperor's family as they chatted.

Today was no different. Caesar's daughter, beautiful and spoiled, touched his arm and asked if he had money for the food vendors. Donatello handed it over without a word; he threw himself into his work and advised the emperor as best he could, and stayed on his good side by tolerating the child and her cousins.

Other people's families, even Caesar's family, had no real place in his heart.

The opening match had ended, and the announcer made his voice heard above the crowd's shouts. Some famous gladiator was coming out, apparently, to fight a group of feline people from Aegyptus.

The young hostage princess, at Donatello's left, winced and pressed back her pointed ears. The battle at Actium five years ago had taken her country and made her a child of Rome. For her, he held sympathy. They were both hostages to their emperor, in a way.

"And now, it is with great pleasure that we introduce a fighter who has traversed many arenas. He has never lost, and it is said that the blood of Mars flows through his veins. It is with great pleasure that we introduce to the First Citizen and his family … _RAPHAEL!_"

Donatello's eyes snapped open. He turned to the arena, hardly aware of how his serenity had been shattered.

_Your brother is not the only Raphael in this city. Don't be stupid. Raph is dead._

He didn't notice his fingers tightening around the hem of his toga, or the way his breath hitched. Raph was bulky and armoured, one eye of his mask sewn shut (_oh, gods_), and he held his _gladius, _his short sword, with a practiced hand. He faced the Egyptians almost lazily, as if he didn't care where he was or who he was up against. A stocky turtle with a frightening eye, greener than any natural thing.

And it _was _him. Of course his fate had been gladiator.

Raphael looked up then, and it was only then that Donatello realized the Egyptian princess was staring at him. She was bright; hopefully she would not catch the resemblance. He smoothed his face and turned to the emperor.

"Caesar, I will be going now." His voice barely wavered. "I seem to have been struck with a sudden illness, and I cannot stay here."

He locked eyes with his brother as he fled, not waiting for permission. He saw Raph's gaze harden and turn away from him; of course he could not be distracted from the fight.

Donatello's stomach was in knots; Caesar would notice. A teenager had, so too would his tactical genius of an emperor. He would have to form a lie, for the first time in his service.

This had better not be the day Raph chose to lose.


	4. Foreigner's Kindnesses

Mikey never worried about sickness in the big cities. After all, he and his brothers had always been hardy—turtles generally were, and the diseases that swept the slums and took scores to Hades rarely even caused a sniffle in their family.

So entering Rome, even with the warnings of a plague in the Subura, hadn't fazed him. Seeing his old home and the streets he'd grown up on was too tempting, after coming all this way.

Of course, now he was lying in an alleyway of his childhood neighbourhood, shivering and feverish on the dirty cobbled street. He had barely been here a few days before the sickness had set in.

At least he had come full circle back to Rome before he died, right? Going to the afterlife where his brothers had was fitting. Maybe he would find them again faster that way.

Mikey squeezed his eyes shut; daylight was waning, but the light was still too much. If he was lucky, he could fall asleep again and not feel the life draining from him.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps, and a voice that was anything but common. Curiosity got the better of him, and he opened his eyes to slits.

A young woman, feline (Egyptian?) poked her head out of her litter, and her eyes fell on him. She waved at her slaves.

"Stop! There's someone lying in the street, look!"

"There's a plague right now, _domina_." Another voice, about the same age. They both made Mikey dizzy. "A lot of people are sick; please stay in your litter so you won't be one of them."

"Well, he can't just die out there, April!"

"_Domina, _please. We need to be going."

The girl's voice took on a fierce edge. "My brothers died of a fever this winter, remember? What if that boy is someone's brother, too?"

A small, quiet sigh. Then the servant girl's voice shifted to Greek. "I … it wouldn't hurt if we keep him in servant's quarters. Leatherhead—go get him, please. Put him in the other litter."

Someone stepped away from the group, and Michelangelo almost didn't realize how massive he was until he was upon him. He wasn't afraid; he'd met scarier out east. The hands that picked him up then were incredibly gentle, which almost surprised him.

"The princess Selene is kind," he heard the crocodile say in a thick accent. "Don't worry, brother. You'll go unnoticed to those at the villa."

"Good to know," Mikey said finally, in hoarse Egyptian. Leatherhead's grip tightened slightly in surprise. Michelangelo smiled faintly.

"How far have you traveled?" he asked in surprise as he placed Mikey in the second litter.

"Tell the princess your country's one of the best," Mikey said, this time in Greek. He was still pretty sick—it was hard to keep his languages straight.

Leatherhead muttered something, and shut the litter door. And Mikey slept.


	5. Big Plans

_Historical note: The "wooden sword" Raph mentions alludes to the practice of freeing gladiators who have proven their worth, by giving them the item after a battle. As gladiators are either enslaved by force or give themselves to the ranks, they were a big deal and sought after highly._

* * *

Raphael hadn't slept.

Rest usually came easy to gladiators. You got it while you could, and made the most of it before the next big match or morning training session. But tonight he had lain awake for hours already, tossing on his mat while Casey snored a few feet away.

The face in the stands—no, the emperor's _private box—_had been too familiar. From a distance it had been hard to tell (and Raph had forced himself to turn away), but not so hard that he couldn't be sure. The stance, the eyes, even the gap between his teeth. How had little Donnie found himself in the emperor's circle?

He had had no time to dwell on it in the ring. His sudden energy and shock had been channeled into his opponents, and by the end he had been dusty and blood spattered, looking again for Donatello. But he was long gone.

But if he was so close to the first citizen of Rome, and lived on the Palatine with the other aristocrats … that meant he was within reach.

Well. He would have been in reach, if Raph was not still under his contract in the ring. Even as a child, the games had upset Donnie. Maybe the sight of a dead brother would make it too painful to return.

So maybe it was time to try and plan again.

Raphael rolled over and sat up … and presented Casey with a sharp punch in the shoulder. Immediately he was up, snarling, turning his dark eyes to glower at Raph.

"What the hell is your problem?" he asked, in a voice barely kept below a whisper. "We've got matches tomorrow!"

Raph narrowed his eyes.

"Casey. We're gonna escape."

Wide eyes. It was probably too early for this. "Uh … what?"

"You heard me. We're stronger now, we're in the top class of gladiators. And my brother is out there."

"Your—your _what? _Aren't they—"

"Shut the fuck up, Casey, one of them is out there. I saw him. I don't feel like waiting to be handed a wooden sword, and you've still got your little girl somewhere out there, right? We're planning it properly this time."

Casey stiffened up, his arms folded tightly over his chest. Shadow was always a sharp point for him, and Raph felt a stab of guilt himself for twisting it.

No matter. He'd make this worth it.

"I need your help, you bonehead. Now I've got a reason to try this again."


	6. Cruel Rumours

They were going in tomorrow, but Leonardo dreaded it.. He didn't want to see Rome again.

They camped on the Field of Mars, just outside the city like any other legion. Soldiers gossiped about the reasons why, though they had been here for two weeks. Some said that their legion was one of finest, and that Augustus intended to choose new blood for the Praetorian Guard—the imperial protectors.

They also said Leo must be half the reason why.

Which made this even worse, because Leo knew he could not guard a court whose people lived inside those walls, those walls that held his brother's souls. If they were not dead, in any case, they were far from home, slaves in arenas or salt mines. Somewhere hot and crushing.

He unsheathed his _gladius, _turning it over in the faint light. Leo wouldn't deny that he wielded his best. His firm command kept his soldiers going, and the generals marvelled, for he was so young. Raph would be jealous, Donnie and Mikey would beg for stories as Father looked on, eyes warm with pride …

"Brothers again?"

Leo's thoughts disappeared, and he returned to the world. He scowled.

"This is Rome, Usagi," he said, sheathing his weapon again. "This city's dust holds the blood of my family. If they make me become part of the guard they'll find me dead the next morning, I swear."

Usagi made a soft sound in response, dropping into the dust of Leo's tent. Miyamoto Usagi was something of an enigma to Leo. He felt deep disdain for the Augustus and how far his army stretched, and was decidedly individualistic, aloof at best to anyone but Leonardo himself. And yet Leo would never choose anyone else to cover him when the Celts next charged.

"They say Augustus keeps something of a pet," he said. "Of turtle race, like you."

Leo snorted. "Rich people always have their favourite slaves. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Of course not," Usagi pressed. "You didn't let me finish. They say he is most intelligent, despite being from the slums. Augustus trusts him enough to help him pick the newest members of the guard. He speaks every language of the Empire."

Leo had memories of Donnie muttering to himself in Greek or Punic, so no one would overhear his scientific ideas in their little house. He would come home in the evenings and fill scrolls with foreign tongues, and the quotes of philosophers whose names escaped even Father. He had also been the one Leo saw dragged away from Michelangelo, and hit over the head with a horrible _thud. _The memory still brought bad dreams.

"There is one more thing," Usagi said, lazily, as if he didn't care how hard Leo listened. "A very famous gladiator is in town. Also a turtle. Wild-eyed and so fearsome, that this right hand of the Emperor needed to leave the arena. But people claim there are more reasons than that. All Rome speaks of these days are turtles."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked, finally looking up. His friend's eyes were serious. Where had these words, of such casual cruelty, come from in Usagi's brain? What did it hope to accomplish?

"One man in the company claims he saw this one some years back, in the Libyan arenas. He said something in the gait reminded him of our Leonardo, and how strange is that?"

Leo did not speak for a very long time. The shouts and laughter of drunk men filled the air, the tent doing nothing to muffle them.

"Will you pack for Rome?" Usagi said softly. "I never thought it right that you should give up hope, when you never saw them dead."

Leonardo slumped.

"If you're wrong, I'm going to kill you," he groaned finall, putting his face in his hands. "You asshole." He agonized now, because Usagi had been _right _to speak so lazily, so out of his character. Leo had long ago filtered out his friend's gentle prodding.

Usagi squeezed his shoulder. "Goodnight, my friend. I hope for your sake the rumours are true.

With that Usagi left. Leonardo was alone with his thoughts, of the faces of little brothers and their bright smiles.


End file.
